


Together

by Not_You



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Sensuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Multi, Orgy, Other, Past Abuse, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"We... we both examined the distillers who were held by the Decepticons before they were put in long-term stasis. We just..."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>He couldn't finish. Hound encircled him tightly with his thickly armored arms. "They were coded like you are, yet had entire companies of mechs siphoning them... raping them."</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Beachcomber nodded, sinking into the support behind him.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>A soothing hum emanating from deep in Hound's chassis as he gathered Beachcomber closer. He had seen some of the visuals of the small mechs recovered from Decepticon outposts, stripped of even their minimal armor, limbs crushed, channel apertures no longer able to properly close. Their exposed protoforms had been distended in places and collapsed in others from the constant stress on their tanks.</i></p><p>--Aegis, Chapter Three</p><p> </p><p>There are apparently canon plans for these poor little guys, but I just couldn't bear it and wrote this.  Omega Supreme needs a lot of specialized fuel, and these distillers need a lot of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Aegis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/442962) by [femme4jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme4jack/pseuds/femme4jack). 



They online slowly. Cautiously, remembering some pain that isn't there anymore. Optics focus, and they stretch their delicate limbs, struts and tensors perfect again. What were they before? Oh. It comes back to them, but in a trickle rather than a rush, and there is some remove. They look around the medbay and catch sight of the head medic standing at an observation deck and scanning them all.

"Your memories have been partially wiped. Structural integrity remains, but some toxic responses and particularly immediate memories have been removed. Are you functional?"

Vocalizers online, they make little staticky chirping sounds as they send affirmative glyphs to the medic. The grief is still there, aegismechs long gone and terrible loneliness in their place, but the worst, crushing weight of it is gone, that dark wish to deactivate and all those body memories of Decepticon abuse. They still know what happened to them and what they have lost, but now there's the possibility of a future.

The others are careful with them. Gentle jokes and little treats of rare elements and endless patience, every one of them feeling protective of the little distillers whether they're guardians by spark or not. It's still hard to really trust, though. They all recharge together and interface with each other, sharing memories of guardians lost, working together to fight off the other memories, the ones that can never be entirely removed. Their tanks still feel the phantom ache of being overfilled and over… stolen. They can't even think of what happened as siphoning, because it was nothing like what siphoning should be. They still have nightmares, and sometimes even the medics can't calm them. Sometimes all that works is the embrace of another distiller, someone else who knows that nightmare. It's not their usual protocol, but everything has been so distorted for so long that it's not so strange to form a kind of cadre, just the myriad distillers connecting with and comforting each other.

Nothing changes until Omega arrives. Every alarm klaxon in the base goes off, the giant shuttle falling from the sky to scar the land and lie inert, nose buried in the soil. The first investigations find him offline and in dire need of fuel. They've never seen a Cybertronian so large, or one that needs so much. It's a week before they get him fueled enough to speak, and when they do he howls with grief. It's hard to understand him at first, but it gradually becomes clear that he was built with dedicated distillers. They hid, but the Decepticons found them and they self-destructed rather than be used by their enemies, leaving Omega cold and alone between the stars. He has been wandering and starving for far too long, and even when his body is repaired, his field is still dark and troubled. He changes to his bipedal form and broods, utterly miserable.

It's Geophage who goes to him first. Even hurt, Omega's field is soothing. Strong and rich, Geophage can feel Omega's grief for all his distillers, his precious little cadre carried inside his body. He misses them so much. Geophage doesn't speak, just climbs onto one massive thigh and presses himself against Omega's abdominal plates, field merging with his, sharing grief and love and the sympathy any distiller must feel for a lone aegismech.

"Distiller: comforting," Omega says at last, huge forefinger just stroking Geophage's dorsum and making him shiver. It feels so good to be close to such a big, gentle mech.

"You are too, big guy." And Omega doesn't say anything else, but is calm and receptive as Geophage shares his memories of Leviathan. The sorrow is soft this time, like grey skies. It's something they can bear together.

After that, it's a slow but steady process, more and more of the distillers coming to Omega, basking in his field and sharing memories with him, comforting his miserable loneliness and his rage at being unable to protect mechs so precious to him. They touch him all over and share fields and reassure him, but are still afraid to open his ventral plates. Inside is a chamber full of siphons, and while they want it the right way again, they're afraid of being afraid. They don't want to hurt him when he's been hurt so much already by recoiling from his poor starved siphons. But finally they can't bear it, and open his chest plates to reveal the cold, empty chamber within. It's vast and filled with siphons, all of them hanging derelict and helpless from the walls.

Saltskimmer goes first because he's the most curious of all of them, but Geophage is right beside him. They each cautiously touch a siphon, and Omega chokes out a staticky, " _Please_ ," but doesn't do anything else. He would never force them, and they shudder with the strength of their conviction. The feeling flows through the whole cadre, and Sifter is the one who speaks for them. Sifter almost never speaks, the most wounded of them all. Now his voice is clear over the comms. 

"Omega: court us if you wish."

"Please," he says again, and then shudders as they pile inside him. He hasn't carried anyone in so long that he had stopped noticing the cold ache of being empty, and now moans helplessly as the whole cadre of distillers pack in. They're so _warm_ , oversized sparks humming inside him and finally filling him up. All their diverse and precious fields buzz and ring with his own, and he shivers at the tingling warmth inside, siphons reaching for them without any conscious input from him. He wants to pull back, doesn't want to push, but Sifter takes one in his hands, caressing the tip before turning his back to it, dorsal port sliding open. 

Omega is careful with Sifter. Sifter is so small and sweet, and had almost imploded in Decepticon captivity, small tanks drained well past their limits. Now he sinks back against the wall and lets Omega in. Geophage takes both his hands, and they stare into each other's wide optics as Omega's siphon carefully, _carefully_ slithers deeper and deeper into Sifter. Omega trembles at the trust they're showing him, and strives to be worthy of it, just sipping lightly at Sifter's highly-concentrated fuel, as gentle with the tiny distiller as he knows how to be. Sifter whimpers and melts, keening helplessly.

"Sifter: Safe with you," he whispers, and Omega hums all around them. He would rather extinguish than let anything happen to them, and lets the knowledge into his field, letting them all bask in it as he transforms around them, holding them close and safe as their ports open to him, the whole strange, sad little distiller cadre glowing with happiness.

Geophage is the last to hook up, checking on all the others first. He knows his coding has been warped by their experiences, because he sometimes acts more like a guardian than a distiller. He looks into optics and caresses frames, making a complete circuit of the rounded, cozy siphoning chamber and making sure that all the others are perfectly situated, running fingertips and collection fronds around the spots where they join with Omega's siphons. The whole chamber hums as Omega vents some of the excess heat. Not all of it, they want to feel it, but enough to keep everyone at optimum. Data ports have irised open alongside his siphons, and all around Geophage the others plug into Omega and each other, sharing tolerances and system specs and preferred rhythms and depths and treasured memories. It would be so overwhelming for any one of them, but Omega rumbles and shivers in delight, his processor easily paying equal attention to all of them. Geophage impulsively presses himself to the wall, just feeling that soft, strong protometal all along his frame for a long moment.

"Geophage," Omega purrs, and his last unoccupied siphon actually curls slightly in a beckoning gesture that makes Geophage laugh, the sound edged with static. He goes to it, touching the siphon with delicate collecting tendrils and shuddering. Leviathan had been a shuttle too, and the fit into his dorsal port is perfect. He slots a data cable into place as well, joining in the chorus of high, happy trilling noises as Omega's siphons slither even deeper, suction so perfect and right after so long. Another fear washes away, because this is nothing like the crowded, chaotic feeling of Decepticon abuse. All of them are being siphoned together, but there is no other resemblance to this sacred experience, all of them fueling the same massive, powerful mech together. They link in a web of cables, sharing memories and the codes from Omega, all working together to produce exactly what he needs. Omega shifts around them and suddenly the chamber is smaller, all of them pressed close to touch and share, their helpless trillings and groans and chirps harmonizing with Omega's deep, contented groans, a constant sound as he quivers around them, siphons so hungry and so gentle at the same time. The protometal walls ooze over them in loving tentacles, rubbing and stroking and holding them in place, thin tendrils twining around their extended cables.

"Uh, what the hell is that?" Carly tries not to squeak, but in the crater where Omega usually hangs out there's just a massive sphere, shaking and rumbling and crackling all over its surface with plasma.

"…Oh." Hound sounds awestruck and a little dismayed, and that really doesn't help.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong!" And he still sounds a little shocked, but happy, too. "It's just unexpected. We shouldn't go any closer, though."

"Radiation?"

"That, and what's occurring is very private."

"Oh!" Hound transforms and she climbs into his alt. "Is Omega all right?"

"That _is_ Omega, he's just in a special form." He starts up and drives off, and even if it is private, Carly can't take her eyes off the giant sphere as it disappears behind them.

"Wow. Did you know he could do that?"

"Not really, but it doesn't surprise me that he can."

"So what is going on? I mean, as much as you can tell me."

"It's a bit difficult to explain to a human, but let's see… well, rape is an endemic problem here, right?"

"Right, especially for females."

"You've met those little distillers, right?"

"The ones you saved from the Decepticons, yes."

"What the Decepticons did to them was essentially a particularly terrible form of rape, and what they're doing with Omega now is the same physical act for the first consensual time since."

Carly nods, and swallows around the lump in her throat. "Then that is private. Can you… can you tell if it was going well?"

Hound laughs, the sound free and joyous. "Going _amazingly_."


End file.
